Thrusters on Full
by A Frumious Bandersnatch
Summary: -He was old, but they were brand new. It was their stage now, but he knew that he wouldn't miss it for anything.- Some one-shots. Named after the first one.
1. Thrusters on Full

**A/N:** I'm a latent Trekkie and flipping proud of it, man.

I don't write slash. Just so you know.

**Disclaimer:** _Star Trek_ and all related are property of whoever owns it now (it's definitely not me).

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Thrusters on Full

"This assembly calls _Captain_..."

Admiral Barnett paused for the briefest of seconds before continuing, as though relishing how it sounded to once more put the title 'Captain' in front of a name that ended in 'Kirk'. A Captain Kirk who hadn't died twelve minutes after assuming command. A captain who hadn't saved just eight hundred lives, but that of his crew, the six billion on Earth alone and many more lives within the Federation itself.

It was music to Spock's ears.

The temporally-displaced Vulcan was hovering on the balcony walkway above the assembly hall. He wasn't eavesdropping, per se, as this was a public venue. And he certainly wasn't one of those news reporters that Starfleet had been doing their damndest to keep off Academy grounds so the heroes of the day could recover and mourn in peace as needed. He was just an old, old friend who felt as though he was finally seeing closure at the end of a long journey.

And perhaps, he was precisely that.

He and Kirk had been friends for nearly thirty years. Barely a blink for Spock, but that was half of Kirk's life. At times, it felt like half of Spock's life as well when he counted not just the friendship of James T. Kirk, but the friendships he had forged with his crewmates as well.

They had all faded out, one by one. Dr. McCoy had lived to see the launch of the _Enterprise-D_ under the indomitable Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Retired from his duties as captain of the _Excelsior_, Sulu had spent the rest of his days with his wife and family. Both Uhura and Chekov had passed on quietly in the countries they loved. At last check, Scotty had still been puttering around the Academy, putting the fear of Scotsmen into the cadets, grumbling about how things were back in his day and hoping that no one else got stuck in a transporter's pattern buffers because it wasn't nearly as fun as it sounded. But even he had been slowing down, his age catching up with him even as he tried to drink it back.

To see them here, youthful and alive, so much potential still before them... It made Spock's heart both hurt and swell with joy. There were new worlds out there. New lifeforms and new civilizations and new, new everything. All brand-new and waiting for a brand-new _Enterprise_ to discover.

With a brand-new Captain James T. Kirk leading the charge.

"I relieve you, sir."

"I am relieved."

"Thank you, sir."

Overhead, as history was made and the future reasserted itself, the aged Vulcan nodded to himself, proud and contented.

"Thrusters on full."


	2. Those Lights

**A/N:** More Spock Prime, this time on Delta Vega. Kudos to anyone who spots the old-school movie reference.

This might be an ongoing thing.

**Disclaimer:** _Star Trek_ and all related are property of whoever owns it now (it's definitely not me).

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Those Lights

The air was cold, the fire was warm and Spock had a raging headache. He sat in a meditative position in front of the flames, trying to focus on anything other than the screams of the living and the dead that still echoed across the psionic field.

It was no good. His head was too full of whirling thoughts; his heart too full of painful emotions. He couldn't tamp them down under cold Vulcan logic. The more he tried, the harder they strained to be unleashed. That human side of his that Dr. McCoy had worked so hard to remind him of was trying to have its say. Most embarrassingly, he wanted to give in. He wanted to rage and scream like a human; release those emotions in a violent way. But his Vulcan half demanded logic. Raging and screaming was not a logical thing to do in a time of crisis. Cool heads and rational thought processes were the way to go and he would be damned to abandon his logic and rationality over a few moments of panic.

He couldn't panic. He had to meditate, think and try to formulate some kind of plan.

_Options, Spock. What have you got to work with?_ Asked a voice that sounded suspiciously like an old friend's. _Use that logic of yours and find a way out._

He was on Delta Vega. There was a Starfleet outpost nearby. It was a bit of walk, but he wasn't that old just yet. He could make that walk. There had to be someone at the outpost who could lend him a hand and maybe whatever shuttle they had used to get there. There was some dangerous locals that could potentially ambush him along the way. He didn't have any weapons. He didn't have any allies. No one knew he was here; only Nero. He was effectively stranded with a broken communicator for company.

Nero had left him a communicator, tapped to Starfleet frequencies and modified to work despite the mitigating effect of the Romulan drill. Not only so he could watch Vulcan be destroyed, but so he could listen to the death of the Federation.

He had listened to the unstable Romulan name each Federation ship as they were destroyed. Spock had finally dashed the communicator off the cave's floor in an unrestrained fit of anger after the last ship, the _Farragut_, had been announced destroyed. In his home universe, James Kirk had been first assigned to the _Farragut_. If history held true to its course... If his captain had been assigned to the _Farragut_ prior to leaving for Vulcan...

He dare not think about it. One reality without James T. Kirk was hardly fathomable. Two realities without James T. Kirk was wholly inconceivable.

The _Enterprise_ must surely not have been commissioned yet or else Nero would have gloated something fierce over the eradication of the flagship. Spock was grateful for that. He wouldn't be forced out of his own damn curiosity to listen to the destruction of the ship he had called home for the better part of thirty years.

He regretted smashing the communicator; his only link to the Starfleet outpost. He could still walk, but... Why did he feel so old all of a sudden? It seemed impossible now to trek across the icy expanse just to reach an understaffed facility that might not be able to help him. Maybe it would be easier to spend the rest of his life as the hermit of Delta Vega.

_Goddammit, are you giving up already? You green-blooded hobgoblin..._

The voice of a grumpy southern doctor vanished into the recesses of his mind as another sound pricked in his ears.

Hengrauggi.

And a liberal dose of human swearing from another tunnel of the cave.

Only humans could make their colorful metaphors **that** colorful.

Someone had found him.

Spock snatched the longest piece of kindling and wrapped around the end the strip of cloth he had torn off the inside of his flight suit, then shoved it into the flames until it was alight. Hengrauggi hated fire and heat. Living in a cold environment, so many eyes... They were particularly susceptible to being blinded. Fire was the best way to chase them off and the temporally-displaced Vulcan was at the end of the passage, waving the torch threateningly at the beast.

The hengrauggi recoiled, abandoning its potential meal (a particularly startled-looking young man) and screeching its displeasure at the flames Spock waved at it. Its hatred of fire overruled its hunger very quickly and it scrambled off, hopefully to find an easier meal. The Vulcan stepped back and then turned to the young man.

His mind quickly analyzed the newcomer. Young, mid-twenties at the most, likely a cadet. Dressed in Starfleet's standard-issue cold weather gear (it looked dated, to Spock. He barely remembered hearing the stardate; 2250-something.) Bruised and scraped, some scratches around his left eye-

His eyes.

Spock knew those eyes. These were a different color - a bright blue rather than a hazel brown - but the spark of determination, the thirst for adventure - of discovering the strange and unusual - the challenging light that always dared people to just watch the impossible become possible - He knew that. He knew the man who carried those lights.

"James T. Kirk."


	3. Damn Lucky

**A/N:** No Spock Prime this time. Post-_Narada_ piece.

Yep. Definitely an ongoing thing.

**Disclaimer: **_Star Trek_ and all related are property of whoever owns it now (it's definitely not me).

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Damn Lucky

Jim was asleep in the command chair.

No one could blame him. He had been awake and kicking for the better part of thirty-six hours. After being stabbed with a hypospray several times, suffering through an allergic reaction, getting beaten up by Romulans, ship security, Commander Spock and more Romulans, and then refusing to sit still until he had visually checked in on all the departments of the _Enterprise_ (except for medical), it really was a wonder that he hadn't fallen over from exhaustion three hours sooner. He had found his way back to the bridge, forcibly dismissed the crew so their reliefs could take over for several hours. The alpha shift crew had quietly crawled into a bed somewhere. No one had actually been assigned bunks or quarters. After all, this whole debacle was only supposed to have taken several hours, at most. Most people had claimed racks on the barracks deck or couch space in the crew lounges and Jim... Well, he was snoring himself inside of ten minutes.

McCoy didn't have the heart to wake him.

He had spent the last several hours in surgery, trying to detach a nasty little shit-head parasite from Captain Pike's spinal cord. The little asshole had eventually been removed and transferred to the Science department where it could die with scientist poking at it. Pike was resting comfortably thanks to the really good stuff that the _Potemkin_ and the _Reliant_ had brought them. The two ships raced ahead to greet them, carrying supplies to keep the crew and the ship patched together. The _Enterprise_ had warped out almost a month ahead of schedule and was not fully stocked on supplies. Starfleet Command hadn't expected a simple rescue mission to balloon into a race to save the Federation and the whole incident had been a poor excuse for a shakedown cruise.

The _Constellation_ and the _Bozeman_ were trawling through what remained of the destroyed Federation ships. They had picked up some clear, if faint, distress signals in the area. This news had caused half the ship to break down in bundles of nervous wrecks at the thought who might or might not still be alive. The _Narada_ had done a number on those seven ships (eight, counting the _Mayflower_, destroyed prior to the battle itself), but large sections of the hulls had still been intact and if the bulkheads had held...

McCoy didn't let himself start guessing the number of people who might be recovered alive -_-_ even bodies that could be returned to families. He still found himself mulling over it. Those ships had held roughly three-fourths of his graduating class. If even a _fraction_ of them could be saved...

Plans were in place to transfer Pike to the _Potemkin_ and back to Starfleet Medical as soon as he was stable enough to be moved. The _Reliant_ would stay behind and escort the _Enterprise_ home, just in case there were more problems.

McCoy hoped that the _Enterprise_'s Acting Captain wouldn't become one of those problems.

Jim was the little shit-head parasite attached to McCoy's spine, but there was a disturbing sort of symbiotic relationship at work. McCoy was too used to having Jim around to get rid of him.

The Acting-CMO ran the tricorder over the Acting-Captain's snoozing form, quietly cataloguing Jim's bumps and bruises while he wasn't conscious to object to it. It was an old routine. Jim would refuse to tell him what was hurting and McCoy would just get him once he had gone unconscious/to sleep.

Bumps and bruises were pretty much the majority of the Acting-Captain's injuries. They would clear up in a few days, as long as Jim didn't poke his bruises repeatedly or get strangled by another angry Vulcan. An osteo-regen would definitely be needed for the crack above his left eye and a hypo full of a bone-strengthener so the bone wouldn't crack the next time Jim got punched in the face. Which happened a lot. That spot just above his eye was kind of weak, seeing as the majority of right-handed people aimed for the left side of the body and there was something about Jim Kirk's eyes that just made an angry person want to blacken them.

McCoy peered over the tricorder readings and frowned slightly. This was one damn lucky bastard he was looking at. Abrasions, bruises, some smaller cuts; nothing that would heal up in a period of a week or less. He had been through god-only-knows what over the course of the last day and a half, and still came out looking a damn sight better than everyone else.

_Right._ McCoy straightened himself, avoiding the curious glances of the current bridge crew. He would keep an eye on the throat bruising; make sure it didn't become a problem. Keep an eye on Jim's overall health to make sure he didn't keel over **before** they got back to Earth. Get him down to medical at least once for a full check-up.

And maybe he would get Spock's help to shove food down Jim's throat once he woke up.

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	4. Survivor's Guilt

**A/N:** Another post-_Narada_ piece.

These should be in chronological order from here out, but I know I'll be jumping around the timeline here and there.

**Disclaimer: **_Star Trek_ and all related are property of whoever owns it now (it's definitely not me).

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Survivor's Guilt

It wasn't until they were finally only half an hour from SpaceDock did it finally hit Jim. It started with a cold, clammy sweat, followed by an unusual shortness of breath and the overwhelming need to get off the bridge. Jim's hands curled into fists when he felt them start to quiver and he heaved himself out of the chair.

"Spock, you have the bridge." he announced, hastening towards the turbo-lift. The doors closed on Spock's delayed "Yes, Captain". It dimly registered and he sagged in the privacy of the lift.

His hand hesitated over the controls. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of a breakdown and if he was going to fall, he wanted to be out of sight. But where could you find privacy on a ship of four hundred people and no quarters to call your own? He had been sleeping the crew lounge or taking catnaps in the chair whenever he could get away with it.

There had been breakdowns, once the adrenaline had worn off. Jim had consoled a few of those people himself; been a tissue for some of the people who had broken into tears all over his shoulders. But he hadn't let himself show any weakness. He couldn't afford that. The crew couldn't afford that. They needed their captain to maintain a strong front, if just to keep the morale chugging along at acceptable levels. No one needed to see the captain having a breakdown.

Well... Almost no one.

He stabbed the button for deck five.

The corridor on deck five was gloriously empty, meaning Jim didn't have to put on a show for the crew-members. He slumped and slouched and dragged his feet all the way down to medical, only straightening up before he entered.

The medical bay was quiet; perhaps the quietest place on the ship. There wasn't even a snore from any patient. They were all doped stupid with painkillers and sleeping off their injuries. Those who had been severely injured had already been taken home by the _Potemkin_ for immediate evac to Starfleet Medical. These people lying in the beds were in no danger and the nurses who moved quietly between their charges kept it that way.

Jim lingered in the doorway, not willing to call attention to himself nor willing to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. But he managed to disturb it anyhow. Those of the medical profession were highly attuned to their domain and were able to pick up the smallest of changes in the atmosphere of the room. Case in point, a pretty blonde nurse (what was her name? Church? Chapel?) turned towards him and caught his eye, then smiled. It wasn't a flirtatious smile. It was one of knowing and she inclined her head towards a corridor nestled just off the entrance. Jim smiled back at her and headed down the little corridor, following the string of curses and growls down to the CMO's office.

It looked as though a small tornado had hit the CMO's office and Dr. McCoy stood at the eye of the storm. PADDs and colorful post-it notes were scattered all willy-nilly around the small room, as if Bones had completely given up on known forms of organization. Jim knew absolutely nothing about the late Dr. Puri, but he suspected the deceased man would not be pleased with the mess that had formerly been his office.

"Jim-_-_" McCoy had noticed him in the doorway and was already reaching for a medical tricorder. "You didn't get strangled again, did you?"

The Acting Captain scowled. "Do you have that little faith in me?"

"Only in your ability to stay out of trouble." the doctor growled. He stabbed a finger at the empty chair sitting catty-corner to the desk. "Now sit down before you fall down."

"From what? Hypo in the neck?"

"Who said it would be in the neck?"

Jim sat down. If three years living with the irascible doctor had taught him only one thing, it was that if Leonard McCoy made a threat, Leonard McCoy typically followed through with the threat.

"What's wrong?" the good doctor asked now.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?" Jim asked innocently. But that wouldn't work. He was cornered and he knew it. Bones knew it too.

"Because for the last four days you've been going out of your way to avoid this place." the doctor pointed out. "Granted, your injuries are so minor they make me want to puke, but that's not the point. So, what's wrong?"

It was said in a tone that brooked no argument. Jim wasn't leaving this office until he had spilled his guts on what was bothering him, be it physical, mental or emotional. As Acting CMO, McCoy was responsible for seeing to the well-being of the _Enterprise_'s crew, especially her captain. While they were only half an hour from SpaceDock, Jim was still going to have to maintain the front as Captain for another few hours in the face of the media and the populace around the world. He wouldn't be allowed to keel over until after the world had gotten a good look at him.

And Jim knew that.

"I just-_-_ feel horrible-_-_" A medical tricorder chirped. "Hey! Put that away!" Jim batted the tricorder out of McCoy's hand. "I don't feel sick, I just feel-_-_ I dunno... I don't feel sick." he reiterated firmly.

"But you haven't been sleeping much." McCoy said, peering at the data the tricorder had managed to gather.

"Too much to do." Jim muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily. More like too many people bothering him. Captains didn't have office hours, but they did have door locks and mute buttons on the comm units; two amenities Jim was lacking at the moment. Every time he was teetering on the edge of sleep, someone would come along to wake him up and share the news they had. Sometimes he didn't mind it. Like when Scotty just had to tell him that he had managed to eke another quarter-speed out of the impulse engines or when Chekov had been immensely pleased that he had redrawn the flight path to shave twenty minutes off the return trip.

Other times, he wondered why he hadn't crawled into a Jefferies tube when Lieutenant Kyle turned up every half-hour for three and a half hours to tell the Acting Captain that the Acting Chief Engineer was scaring the pants off the entire Engineering Department. Or pushed Yeoman Colt out an airlock after she had bothered him for five hours about signing paperwork that was technically Pike's responsibility, but the Acting Captain got saddled with it anyways because that was his job.

"Here." McCoy plunked a whiskey glass down in front of the fatigued captain. The glass was half full of something that only vaguely resembled alcohol. "Only synthehol. Tastes like lighter fluid and it won't get you drunk, but maybe if you drink enough of it..."

"Cheers." Jim picked up the glass and downed its contents.

The synthehol was pretty tasteless; a pale, bland imitation of the real thing but it left behind a burning tingle that was welcome. He grabbed the bottle off the desk and poured another glass.

"The numbers came in. About an hour ago." Jim said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Do you know how many people they saved from the destroyed ships?"

McCoy shook his head. "Haven't even asked how many people were on the ships."

"One hundred. Exactly one hundred people, out of 2400." Jim grunted, eyeing the shiny surface of the desk. "We got four hundred people on this ship and we had- How many casualties?"

"Maybe two dozen." McCoy said with a shrug. He couldn't recall the exact count off the top of his head, but he knew it wasn't many. Not when you put it in perspective. "And let me guess. You're wondering why you lived when so many other people died."

Jim blinked, surprised that the doctor had been able narrow it down so quickly. "How did you know?"

"It's called survivor's guilt, Jim." McCoy took the bottle back from the Acting Captain. "Trust me, you're not the only person going through it." He poured himself another glass of the alcoholic mockery. "Find me someone on this damn ship who isn't going through it."

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	5. Illogical Human Mistakes

**A/N:** Spock is great fun to write. Especially Reboot!Spock because humans are still these illogical weirdos to him and he denies everything.

**Disclaimer: **_Star Trek_ and all related are property of whoever owns it now (it's definitely not me).

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Illogical Human Mistakes

It was simple and gorgeous; the blue marble of Earth suspended in the black. White clouds overlaid the blue ocean and the alternating green/brown patches of earth. One side of the planet was still dark, tiny electric lights blinking like artificial stars. The event horizon of day and night would be passing over San Francisco soon. They would be on the ground before the sun cleared California's horizon.

Vulcan had never looked like that. Vulcan was a dusty red, like Mars. It was dry and hot. Strong winds could whip the sand into frenzied storms that could last for hours, sometimes even days. There were only a handful of rainstorms per year. They were heavy, but short; the water barely dampening the ground for more than an hour before it began to evaporate. But the results were always spectacular. The desert environment would come alive with bright blossoms and fragrant smells and quite a number of insects. It was a period that his mother always cherished; when her garden stopped looking brown and dead for a few hours.

That garden was gone, he recalled with an unpleasant jolt.

Spock stood on the observation deck of the orbital SpaceDock, his hands clasped neatly behind his back and his gaze fixed on the planet rotating serenely below. They had arrived several hours ago, to the exhausted puttering sound of the impulse engines and a rather unencouraging whine from the electrical systems. Most of the crew members had streamed directly to the mess hall for something to eat or drink while others had made use of the public comm units to informs friends and loved ones that they had made it back safe and sound. Starfleet had arranged for cargo shuttles to transport the weary men and women and all variations thereupon back down to the planet's surface.

The latest round of shuttles had just left, taking all but seven members of the Enterprise crew with them. Spock was not the only person standing on the observation deck. Or sitting, in the cases of Ensign Chekov, Lieutenant Sulu, and Acting Chief Engineer Scott. They had swiped a deck of old playing cards from the recreation room and were currently engaged in a game called 'fizzbin'. The rules were quite nonsensical and illogical. A few moments of actively listening to them banter had led Spock to believe that they were making up the rules on the spot.

Humans. Highly illogical.

Not far from them was Lieutenant Uhura, who had deigned to linger behind because Spock fully intended to wait for the last shuttle. She was leaning on the wall and losing the battle against sleep, judging from the way her head would droop down and the snap up very quickly. She had obtained a cup of coffee from the on-board Starbucks, though she had referred to the drink as "nothing more than liquid sugar in a cup". The stimulant did not appear to have done her much good. Uhura's energy reserves were simply too depleted to be restored by liquid sugar in a cup.

Acting Captain Kirk had insisted on being aboard the last shuttle and where he was, Spock observed that Dr. McCoy was never far behind.

The doctor looked as strained and tired as he undoubtedly felt. He had personally seen every single one of his patients onto the first shuttle, crew member and Vulcan alike -_-_ though he had not followed them down to the planet. He trusted that his staff would take care of the patients they were safely in the hands of Starfleet Medical and perhaps beyond that.

Kirk looked pale and weary, even moreso than when he had barreled off the bridge half an hour before they had been due to dock. He had not been allowed much time to himself for the last four days. Step into the role of captain and the entire crew sought you out with problems. And Kirk had stepped into the role at the worst possible moment. Vulcan destroyed and Earth threatened by the same destructive force; the future of the entire Federation riding on his shoulders; no room for error. He had handled the pressure admirably and proved that he wasn't just some upstart cadet who had won his way through the Academy by cheating. But "running on empty" was the phrase Spock felt was most fitting for how the Acting Captain now appeared.

Personally, Spock was looking forward to the privacy of his quarters on the Academy campus and soothing the unsettled nerves he denied having. He was looking forward to the opportunity to meditate over the events of past several days. Oh, the trip home had been quite uneventful -_-_ with the _USS Reliant_ dogging their wake -_-_ but there was something immensely relieving about finally being away from the tense, raw atmosphere that had pervaded the _Enterprise_ and its jumpy, irritable crew. He was relieved to finally be home.

He was relieved that he still had a home to return to.

It was illogical, he decided, to still be worried about Earth's well-being when it clearly had no visible scars from its close brush with the _Narada_ and when that particular group of Romulans would not threaten it a second time.

The relief was still _there_; thick and congealing like molasses, but sweet and pleasant like honey. It didn't show on his face. No, his face remained as impassive as ever. Maybe it showed in the odd set of his jaw. Or in the way his hands still trembled even though they were clenched behind his back. But it didn't show on his face and naught but a close observer could discern that Spock was finally feeling the emotions he had been holding back.

"Spock."

The Vulcan turned dutifully on his heel to acknowledge the approaching captain. At a closer vantage, Kirk managed to look worse. It was easier to see the fatigue on his face, the slight tremor that affected his step. He was exhausted. That much was plainly obvious.

"Yes Captain."

"Uh... You don't have to call me that. I'm not really the captain." Kirk said, looking briefly flustered. It gave way to one of resignation. "Hell, they'll probably strip me of my commission after..."

He let the sentence hang and shifted his weight from foot to foot, a gesture Spock recognized as one of discomfort. There was no sign of the cocky cadet who had fiddled with the Kobyashi Maru test. Fatigue had worn down his shields and now there was just a human being.

"Indeed you no doubt broke at least one regulation in boarding the Enterprise while on academic suspension, but to strip you of your commission at this juncture would be illogical." Spock said coolly.

...Was he -_-_ trying to reassure the Acting Captain?

Whatever he was trying to do, Kirk did not think the action to be a sincere one, judging from the way his eyes narrowed and his brow wrinkled.

"Really?" His tone was sardonic.

"Starfleet had suffered a critical loss and all cadets have become valuable assets." Spock explained, transferring his gaze to somewhere just above the Acting Captain's head. "Regardless of their past transgressions with Starfleet Academy regulations."

Kirk's reaction was to frown and take several steps forward, quickly closing the gap between them. Spock resisted the natural urge to withdraw as his personal space was invaded. The Acting Captain scrutinized the Vulcan closely for a moment, as though trying to see something more than what was in front of him. It was several moments before he said anything, his features set in an analytical countenance.

"Bones! I think Spock's insulting me!" Kirk called out in a manner that was most petulant.

"Deal with it!" was the doctor's curt reply.

Kirk responded with a one-fingered gesture and a particularly rude facial expression before turning back to the Vulcan, obviously intending to say more.

"Yeah... Look, I said some things back there that were totally uncalled for -_-_ about you -_-_ and your mother -_-_ and I wanted to apologize." Kirk said, his gaze focused on the science officer's knees. "So... I'm sorry."

"Your apology is unnecessary, Captain." Spock informed him.

"It's just 'Jim'. You can call me 'Jim'." Kirk said in an semi-aggravated tone, but propriety dictated that Spock continue to address the cadet by his assumed title until the title was formally removed. "And what do you mean it's unnecessary? I practically kicked you in the balls while you were down!"

"I recognize the necessity of your actions in hindsight. Had we delayed any longer, Nero might have succeeded and Earth would have been destroyed." Spock replied. "There is no need to apologize for necessary actions."

"Dammit, Spock! Don't people on your planet-_-_ Er... On your-_-_" Kirk fumbled over his nearly insensitive comment, remembering last-second that Vulcans didn't have a planet to call their own anymore. "Don't Vulcans apologize when they make mistakes?"

Spock canted an eyebrow. "It is quite simple, Captain. Vulcans do not make mistakes."

Kirk mulled over that one for half a second and promptly looked triumphant.

"But you're half-human."

"Indeed."

"So you're saying you made a mistake?"

"I did not say that."

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	6. Favorite Things

**A/N:** No deep thoughts or mind-bending revelations here, folks. Just the crew bonding over the little things. This chapter takes place almost immediately after the previous one. This one also might make you feel a little hungry. You have been warned.

I knew Star Trek long before I knew Uhura had a first name. Therefore, she has always been "just Uhura" to me.

**Disclaimer: **_Star Trek_ and all related are property of whoever owns it now (it's definitely not me).

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Favorite Things

_Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens_

_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens_

_Brown paper packages tied up with strings_

_These are a few of my favorite things._

"My Favorite Things"

Rodgers And Hammerstein

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"Does anyone else feel like they've been run over with something really, really big?" Jim asked with a groan. He had just shifted in the wrong direction and an ache had come alive in his lower back.

"Like the _Enterprise_?" Scotty suggested. His lady could definitely pack a wallop. No one said all of it was packed in her phasers or torpedoes. Not that he would let anyone treat his lady like a battering ram. God help the first poor schulb who might consider it a good idea.

"That sounds big enough."

"To be run over by the _Enterprise _would be imposs-_-_"

"Jesus Christ, Spock. It's just an expression." McCoy interrupted, dragging a hand over his face. There was a day's worth of stubble on his chin. "Let's not get into a discussion about semantics here. We're all shit-faced without actually being shit-faced."

"Twice the hangover, none of the fun." Scotty agreed.

The cargo transport shuttle rumbled along in the black, carrying the last of the weary Enterprise crew back to Planet Earth. The cargo shuttle was slower and older than the conventional passenger shuttles, resulting in a trip that would be about ten minutes longer ("Eleven point one six minutes longer." Spock had said).

"You know what I'm going to do when we get dirt-side?" Uhura said, picking idly at a ragged nail. "I'm going to take a bubble bath. A really long one with lots of bubbles and I'm not getting out until I'm all wrinkly."

Jim smiled blissfully, probably imagining Uhura naked in the bathtub. Fortunately for him and his potential future children, Uhura interpreted the smile as meant for a completely different thought. The burst of adrenaline from the thought of finally going home was enough to keep her awake right now, but if she attempted complicated thought processes, her brain was likely to short out.

They were all in similar states, really.

"And then I'm going to have a chocolate sundae. Real chocolate ice cream made with milk that came from an actual cow." She glanced apologetically at Spock, sitting beside her. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm feeling a little pro-Earth at the moment."

"That is logical. The planet came -_-_ alarmingly close to being destroyed." Spock agreed.

"Only planet I know that can make a good scotch or a decent sandwich." Scotty said.

"Wodka. And Russia." Chekov said brightly. "Ze only planet zat has Russia."

"Fencing." Sulu added. He adopted a scowl that looked a little mournful. "I've done my research. Half the Federation planets don't know what it is and the other half thinks it's a waste of time."

"Peaches. Good old Georgia peaches. Big as baseballs and when they weren't ripe, you could use them as baseballs." McCoy said, unconsciously licking his lips at the memory of those sweet, juicy peaches. His childhood memories were always inundated by the smell of peaches.

Jim shoved him in a brotherly fashion. "You sound nostalgic, old man."

McCoy shoved him right back. "Alright then, _Captain_. What's **your** favorite thing?"

"Pizza." Jim answered without hesitation, to Scotty's wistful look, for the Scotsman had been deprived of good food (like pizza) for the past six months. "You can go anywhere in the universe, but you won't find pizza like you do on Earth."

"You are all discussing food." Spock observed, with a _barely-there_ confusion. His brow knitting together was much more an indicator of his confusion that his voice was. "Would it not make more sense to be grateful that your homeworld is still here?"

"We are grateful, it's just... This is how humans respond to trauma and trouble." Uhura explained patiently. "We can't focus on the big picture right away because we're afraid it will overwhelm us if we do. So we think about the little things instead. Like food."

"Vhen my grandmother passed avay, at ze funeral all I could think about vas how much I vas going to miss her varenyky. No one made zem like her." Chekov admitted. "Zen again-_-_ I vas nine, so..." He shrugged.

"It's the little things you miss the most." Jim said, almost sagely. He tried not to think about things like plastic glow-in-the-dark stars, fruit trees in the backyard and omelets without peppers.

"There's this great pizza place not far from the campus." he announced in a more jubilant tone. "When they open for lunch, I'm going to eat an entire deep-dish pizza."

"Like hell you will." McCoy snarled warningly. Past experience had shown him that Jim Kirk didn't have the most elastic of stomachs and the idiot was not going to be vomiting up half-digested pizza at any point in the near or distant future if the doctor could help it.

"Three kinds of cheese." Jim went on, plainly having not heard a word. "Pepperoni. Bacon. Ham. Salami. Sausage-_-_ I'm a carnivore, Spock. Put your eyebrow down."

"Mmm, they open for lunch?" Scotty asked. Maybe it was just because of what they were talking about, but a slice of pizza sounded like it would hit the spot right now.

"Do you eat cheese? Because I hear they've got a pretty good spinach calzone." Jim informed the Vulcan. He grinned. "And ice cream. Uhura, you're on to something. Let's all go get ice cream once we're off the shuttle."

"Keptin, is fiwe in ze morning." Chekov pointed out through a large yawn. "Vhere are you going to find ice cream at fiwe in ze morning?"

"Kid, you're looking at the only man who can find poison ivy in the middle of the Academy campus." McCoy said pointedly, drawing a frown out of Jim. Of course, he'd had a much more drastic reaction to the poison ivy leaves that it was four and a half hypo's later before they saw any reduction in the swelling. "If anyone knows a store that's open at five in the morning, it's Jim Kirk."

"Yeah..." Jim covered a yawn of his own behind a hand. Blast Chekov, didn't he know that yawns were contagious? "And it's called Wal-Mart."

"Didn't Wal-Mart crash and burn about a year before World War three?" Sulu wondered. His old high school sociology class had briefly covered the once-infamous consumer giant and the impact the chain store had had on the American culture. And its equally infamous website that depicted the various frightening people who had frequented the store in its heyday.

"Rumor has it they're making a come-back."

The new Wal-Mart -_-_ the first one to return to San Francisco after its two hundred and ten year absence -_-_ was the one-stop shop for a poor Academy cadet. And the frightening people who only came out at night were making the store their own one-stop shop.

Jim wondered if the archived website would go live again. That would make for a great bit of twenty-first century nostalgia.

Spock was beginning to look like he had an insect crawling up his nose. He was the one who could endure another week and a half of no sleep before displaying any negative side-effects. He was in a far better position -_-_ cognitively speaking -_-_ than his crew mates for handling complex thought processes. And yet he was the only one having trouble following the conversation.

"I have lived on Earth for approximately 9.513 years." he said. "I had believed that such a length of time would grant me a better understanding of human nature, but it would appear that that is not the case."

"Don't worry about it Spock." Jim probably would have slapped a hand on the Vulcan's shoulder if they weren't sitting on opposite sides of the transport. "I'm twenty-five years old, been around humans my entire life and I still think we don't make sense."

"It's a universal trait." Uhura said, yawning right in the middle of her sentence. "Half the galaxy thinks we're nuts."

"Even we think we're nuts." McCoy closed his eyes, intending to put at least a small dent in his sleep debt. "Someone other than Jim wake me up when we dock."

Jim made a face at the doctor, but abandoned retaliation attempts in favor of a conversation thread that would keep his brain going until he could find a bed.

"So Spock, what's your favorite thing about Earth?"

* * *

- -


End file.
